Brian called up Dean Engineering on the company database. Bingo! Just as he’d thought, they’d dealt with Dean Engineering in the past. Okay it might only have been to take the vacancies, they’d never actually filled any of them, but what did that matter? It was a way in. Brian knew his strength was the gift of the gab. Someone had once said he could sell snow to the Eskimos, but Brian had said no, he was better at selling sand to the Arabs. It had caused a lot of good natured laughter at the time, but behind the boasting was a grain of truth. Brian was good at selling, but absolutely rubbish at following through. Which was why, he supposed, his life was littered with things that could have been the best idea he’d ever had but had been thrown out of the car window as he drove along the highway of life.
He examined the company entry. Dean Engineering regularly recruited factory floor staff. Those blue-collar workers who were dispensable, vulnerable to the whims of the managers and the directors. One of his former employees had left a remark that Kevin Dean was the director responsible for staffing but would now only employ people on zero hours contracts. Mr Dean had invited someone from Brian’s company to come and see him whenever they had prospective candidates who would consider this type of flexible working.
Brian knew, as did most of the people in Britain, that zero hours contracts were the scourge of the unemployed, and the employed come to that. People who were dragged out of their beds at 6am to go to work immediately. People who were left day after day, week after week, without any work, unable to claim unemployment benefit because they had to all intents and purposes, a job. Bryan loathed such employers. But that was alright. It was just another layer of loathing to add to the mound that had been building since he went through his mother’s box.
That final entry about the company was the one that pleased Brian the most. He swung his chair round to look at the newly installed wall mounted box behind his desk. This was going to be ridiculously easy. He reached for the telephone, a grin spreading across his face. It was time for Kevin Dean to meet his long-lost nephew.
56
As Anderson swept into the office he called to Ciaran. ‘Get us some coffees please, the good stuff mind, not the canteen swill. Holly you’re up in 10 minutes. Crane come with me.’
As Crane and Anderson sat, Derek said, ‘So what has Holly got? Is it going to help at all?
‘Buggered if I know,’ replied Crane. ‘She won’t say, just keeps poring over papers on her desk and checking her monitors. She’s being really OCD about this. I hope she’s alright.’
‘Do you think I’ve put too much pressure on her?’
Derek was anxious. He didn’t want to push his team too hard, that’s how mistakes were made. ‘I know I keep thinking that if anyone can do it, Holly can. But even she must have her limits. And she’s got to keep within the law, otherwise her information will be seen as flawed and Tommy Walker won’t be able to use it.’
Anderson was pushing his hair back, with his fingers, which did nothing to make it look any better. He could see himself reflected in the glass windows in his office. It was still full of static electricity and was pretty much standing on end now. It made him look even more frantic. Even more like the mad professor in the movie Back to the Future.
‘Derek, calm yourself. I know this is important to you and I know how I would feel if I were you. In fact, I do know after that bastard did what he did to Tina, so I don’t blame you for wanting us to keep digging. I can’t criticise you for something I did myself. You need vindication. Confirmation that your belief in Paul’s innocence is correct. And now it looks as if Holly might have found something. I’d be beside myself as well.’
Crane grinned and Derek allowed himself to at least try to relax.
At last Ciaran got back from the coffee shop and Holly followed him in with files in her hands.
‘Right, finally,’ Anderson said. ‘Over to you, Holly. Let’s hear what you’ve got.’
Holly nodded and stood. ‘I’ve got photocopies of all the things I’m going to show you on the monitor. But for now, I just want you to watch and listen. Is that alright?’ Holly looked over at Anderson.
‘Sure, whatever you want,’ he replied and smiled to encourage her.
‘I’m going to start back at the beginning. I was digging through those boxes that Paul Dean gave the guv and I found the wills of Joshua Dean and Anna Dean. I just thought I’d re-read them, just in case, you know?’ She looked around and the other three were nodding. ‘And I found a difference. They mirrored each other, in all but one thing.’
Holly pushed a button on her tablet and the screen filled with part of a will.
‘This is Joshua Dean’s will. The highlighted part says that his children Paul, Kevin and Jill will equally get the company and all his personal assets. But Anne’s will is slightly different. Hers says, all my children.’
A copy of that flashed up on the screen.
‘Why does that make a difference?’ asked Ciaran. ‘Couldn’t it just be a clerical error. It still means the same thing doesn’t it? The three children inherit.’
‘Yes, if there were only three children. But as we now know there were four. Anne Clements had a baby and then had to give her away. She had a little girl. She called her Heather and gave her up for adoption. Her only request, according to her letter to Ada, was that her real mother and father were named on the baby’s birth certificate and that she kept the name of Heather.’
‘And were those requests granted?’
‘It seems so.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I found her birth certificate.’
‘Yes!’ shouted Anderson. ‘A fourth child who would have been entitled to 25% of the company and the Dean money.’
‘Exactly,’ agreed Holly.
‘What happened to Heather Clements?’ asked Ciaran, who was grinning from ear to ear.
‘I stayed in the Chorley area and found a marriage certificate 22 years later. She, Heather, married Simon Monaghan. I then lost them and had to do searches for Simon Monaghan. I tried the police records and then the forces records. It turns out he was in the army.’
‘And got posted to where?’ said Crane.
‘Aldershot was one of them and the dates fit. But the marriage didn’t last and Heather and Simon divorced. However, according to Aldershot Census records Heather and her son Brian stayed in the area.’
‘And now they live where?’
‘Well Heather doesn’t live anywhere, she died about 6 months ago, leaving everything she had to her son Brian.’
‘Which I guess wasn’t much.’
‘No. Hence my theory.’
‘Which is?’
‘Your killer could be Brian Monaghan.’
‘How so?’
‘If he has found out that his grandmother was Anne Dean, then it’s not much of a leap to think that he feels he is entitled to a share of everything the Dean family have. Maybe he talked to Kevin and Jill, who told him where to go and he killed them in a fit of anger at being treated with such disdain. Anyway, whatever, that’s up to you three. I think I’ve pretty much done my part.’
‘About that, um, Brian Monaghan?’
‘Oh yes, sorry, all his details are in this folder for you. His address, employment, marriage certificate, so it’s over to you guys. Find him and you might just have found your killer. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going home. Spending almost 24 hours straight in front of my monitors isn’t doing much for my health. If I don’t sleep soon, I’m going to fall over.’
‘Off you go, then,’ said Anderson. ‘Take an extra day, you’ve earned it.’
Anderson felt like clapping. He couldn’t believe what Holly had achieved. But now they had to find and confront Brian Monaghan. Try and get the truth out of him, whatever it was, whether it helped Paul’s case or not. But he thought it would. He had a good feeling about it.
57
Brian
Brian tried not to appear to be too nervous as he w
aited outside Kevin Dean’s office. It was nearly 6pm and the factory was falling silent as the workers had finished their shifts and the office staff had left for the day. The offices were situated above the factory floor and ran along one wall of the huge building. Brian knew that the facility he was in was only one of four equally big units. The site was so big that you needed a car to drive around it. Brian’s lip curled up in distaste. If ever there was a show of importance and money, that was it. He’d telephoned Kevin Dean direct, about an hour ago, requesting a meeting to talk about staff vacancies. He'd given a false name and details of a fictitious company. The reason for setting up a last-minute meeting, was that hopefully his name wouldn’t appear in any diaries and an eagle-eyed secretary wouldn’t see him.
Brian hoped his appearance wouldn’t let him down. He was dressed in a navy-blue suit, that whilst once being fashionable, was now just dull and dowdy. His tie had seen better days and was fraying around the edges. He considered tucking it into his shirt but thought that might look worse. He could only hope the frayed collar of his shirt couldn’t be seen. That was the only up-side to not having enough money to have a haircut. The tendrils of hair that had grown too long, covered the collar of his shirt and if he was honest, his suit jacket.
He was roused from his introspection by the door to Kevin’s office opening and there the man was, framed in the door, the object of Brian’s hatred.
‘Come in, come in,’ Kevin said and immediately turned back to the room, without waiting to see if Brian was following him. Typical, arrogant behaviour fumed Brian to himself.
By the time Brian was up and had walked to the door, Kevin was already sat behind his desk, so Brian rushed into the room and sat on a chair placed in front of the large yet streamlined desk.
‘So, you have some candidates for us,’ said Kevin. He put his shirt-sleeved arms on the desk. Resting on the top were big meaty hands that slightly unnerved Brian by their sheer size.
He gulped. ‘Yes, it’s possible. We might. Um, I think we do.’ Brian picked up the briefcase that he’d placed on the floor by his chair and placed it on his knee, as if to open it.
‘Well, either you do, or you don’t.’
‘No, I’m sure we do.’ Brian loosened his tie and ran his hand over his brow. It came away hot and wet. Perhaps it was the heightened tension? He hadn’t expected to perspire so much.
Kevin leaned back in his chair, picked up a ballpoint pen and started to click it on and off. The noise grated on Brian’s already frayed nerves. He could feel the heat rising from his chest, up his neck and onto his flushed face.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ Kevin leaned over the desk, thrusting his face closer to Brian’s.
‘Actually, no, I’m not, I…’ But Brian couldn’t finish the sentence and tipped sideways, falling out of his chair.
‘Dear God,’ Brian heard Kevin say as he peered round his desk.
Brian clutched his left arm and panted. ‘Help!’
‘Bloody hell, I think you’re having a heart attack!’
‘Help…’ Brian managed to whisper as Kevin dropped to the floor beside him.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Kevin asked, the panic in his voice all too clear. ‘Shall I go for help?’
Brian didn’t answer and felt around for his briefcase with his left hand. With his right, he grasped Kevin’s tie, pulling the man closer to him.
‘I, I…’ he whispered, trying not to recoil from being so close to his money-grabbing cousin.
As Kevin leaned close to Brian’s face, to hear his last words, Brian grabbed the handle of his briefcase and swung it, hitting Kevin squarely in the temple. As Brian heard the reassuring thud of his enemy hitting the floor, he scrabbled up and quickly opened the case. Drawing out a machine, he placed the defibrillator on the floor and turned it on. Whilst waiting for the charge, he ripped open Kevin’s shirt and placed the two paddles directly onto his skin. At the sound of the beep, he pressed the buttons. Kevin’s chest lifted off the floor and then slumped back down. Checking for a pulse in Kevin’s neck, Brian felt it. Faint but regular. That wouldn’t do. So, he repeated the procedure, calling out, ‘clear!’ as he pressed the buttons, even though there was no one else with them in the office. That made Brian giggle as Kevin was once again lifted off the floor by the force of the charge and then slammed back down. This time there was no reassuring pulse under Brian’s fingers on Kevin’s neck.
As Brian rocked back onto his heels, he realised that now Kevin was successfully out of the way, he could turn his attention to Jill. He grinned at the thought as he packed the defibrillator back into his case, opened his own shirt and retrieved the hot pads he’d taped to his chest, placing them next to the defibrillator. He returned his chair to its correct position and slipped out of the office door. Just another visitor leaving the offices of the giant that was Dean Engineering.
58
Brian
Now that Kevin was out of the way, Brian began to think about Jill. All the information about her that he could find, spoke of a clever, organised fanatic. It was as though she were determined to prove that she was as good as her brothers, if not better. She’d won awards from women’s and business organisations. She was driven, hungry and a stickler for detail. It was that final trait that Brian was going to exploit, he decided.
The local paper had a notice in that said that the funeral of Kevin Dean was to take place in a week’s time. Brian smiled as he read that everyone was welcome, but that the family had requested no flowers, rather a donation to one of the charities close to Kevin’s heart.
The funeral was to be at Redan Cemetery in Aldershot, near to the factory, in the chapel and then by the graveside at the Dean family plot. The article also helpfully gave Brian the details of the undertakers.
It was a few days later that the final pieces of his plan fell into place. Posing as a member of the undertakers, he managed to contact Jill at the factory just before she left to go home and persuaded her to meet him. She agreed but said she had to go home first to get ready. She was meeting a friend in Farnham for dinner, so she could meet Brian at the cemetery on her way there.
As it was nearly 8pm, it was dark outside, and the sodium lamps flashed by as Brian drove to the cemetery to meet her. He didn’t expect her to be in a good mood, she’d sounded well and truly pissed off on the phone, but luckily had still agreed to meet him. He had played to her sense of pride in her arrangements. She believed that nothing should be left to chance. Every ‘i’ was to be dotted and every ‘t’ crossed. That had been a focus of numerous interviews and speeches she had given.
Brian had only been there a few minutes when she screeched to a halt by the cemetery gates. As she climbed out of her Alpha Romeo sports car, Brian could see she was dressed in a manly fashion. Her trouser suit was dark and sharp, her white shirt made from a material that whispered and accented her contours. She was instantly recognisable as a dominant woman, but one who didn’t mind using her sexuality to get what she wanted.
‘So, there’s a problem with the family plot?’ she said, without preamble.
‘Yes, that’s right, Miss Dean,’ said Brian. He raised a rolled piece of paper. ‘Would you like me to show you on the map?’
‘Are you mad? It’s dark. I can’t see that. Come on, let me see for myself,’ she said and strode through the gates.
Brian disliked her instantly, but grinned as he followed her to the family plot. He had intimated to her on the phone that there was no room for Kevin’s coffin, as the grave was already full.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she’d snapped. ‘It’s the family plot. There can’t possibly be any problem. No one else in the family has died that I’m aware of. Look, I’ll come to the cemetery, you can meet me there.’
In a few minutes they arrived at the Dean family burial plot. Standing at the graveside, she peered into the empty hole. ‘What on earth are you talking about, you stupid little man,’ she said, turning on Brian. ‘There’s nothing
in the grave!’
By way of a reply, Brian hit her across the side of the head with the shovel that he had conveniently left stuck upright in the mound of earth. As she fell, he dropped to his knees and his hands went around her throat.
‘This will teach you to steal my inheritance,’ he said as she struggled to breathe. She flailed her arms and legs, but to no avail. Jill might have been a strong-willed woman, but she was no match for the younger, heavier Brian. Once her body went limp, Brian rolled her into the grave.
‘As I was saying,’ he said as he grabbed the shovel and began covering her body with earth, ‘There’s no room in the grave for Kevin. It’s full already.’
59
Brian
Brian clicked off the television with some satisfaction. He’d just watched a news item which said that Paul Dean was accused of the murder of his brother and sister, and currently on trial, so he was out of the picture now. His plan couldn’t have gone better, he surmised. Soon Paul Dean would be incarcerated in prison convicted of murdering his brother and sister and therefore not entitled to his share of his sister’s and brother’s inheritance. Brian had specifically researched that point. Under common law in the UK there is a long-established position known as the forfeiture rule, by which a murderer cannot inherit from the deceased whom they have killed. Okay, some would say the same of himself, Brian knew. But, of course, Brian was coming to the problem from a righteous point of view. He was legally entitled to a share of Dean Engineering and the Dean fortune. His mother had been deliberately erased from the family history and therefore Brian had been cheated out of his rightful inheritance. Any judge or jury would see that, if he were ever caught, and he was confident he would be awarded what was legally his.
A Grave Death Page 13
